Flipped
by Superkawaiifreak
Summary: The first time Roxas saw Axel, he flipped. The first time Axel saw Roxas, he ran. For six years, the two played cat-and-mouse, with Roxas as the cat, and Axel as the unfortunate mouse. Axel's rants and Roxas's raves about one other continue well into high school, and it is only when Roxas' interest in Axel begins to feign that the redhead finds Roxas to be simply spectacular.
1. this is just to say

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.  
**

AN: I attempted this years ago, but now I am officially revamping "Flipped." This is a remarkably simple tale of a romance told from two points of view; time gets thrown all over the place, but I'll keep you on track. I will clarify twice in each chapter update: my punctuational and general conventional elements are all correct, whether they follow the "rules" of grammar or not. I get horribly peeved when I am "corrected" on my grammar when, really, it is the wielding of punctuational weapons that bolster a good writer. So. We begin with Axel. Hope you enjoy.

**2013 – Axel Burke**

_Dear Roxas—_

_We've never met in the proper light, I don't think._

I cleared my thoughts, shaking.

_Nope. I can't recall a time when we didn't meet and one of us wasn't either a) being an asshole or b) emotionally frustrated or c) sexually frustrated. But it happens, I guess. Bad timing. We grew up, grew together, and became different people from who we originally thought we would become. Thank god, neither of us got mixed in with those hipster-weed-orgy groups. Or chess club. That would've been bad—even worse than my being in the Assembly of Science, and the president of it, at that. Aside from those years in which we fought pettily, I find that the time from sixth grade to my sophomore (and, sadly, your freshman year) year was relatively self-actualizing. It was so innocent—I mean, we still are—but back when I had those tiny reindeer mittens, life was cake._

_I'm sorry for beating around the bush. I'm also sorry for using clichés—I know you hate them—and I'm sorry for speaking in such pedestrian language and for apologizing so much and for misusing coordinate conjunctions because I know you hate that, too. But that' what I do—I anger you and you anger me. Sorry that I don't know the English language as well as you do. I apologize that I don't understand circumlocution. I know lab jargon, and that's about it. You don't even know what the basic concept of electron affinity is, which blows, because that means you'll never understand my "you're my Fluorine" jokes, even though they're not actually jocular at all but rather quite serious in matter and content. You couldn't even manage to successfully titrate a whole liter of sodium chloride with me—a whole damn liter! That gives you huge room to make folly error, Roxas; I would have thought that with your type-A personality that you would have been more apt to just listen to my directions and have done the lab correctly._

_Roxas, I don't know if I can forgive what you've done to me, either—from rewriting one of my most personal memories in the New York Times, to implicitly severing out friendship for the sake of a rebirth of one between you and Riku—but Roxas, you can't forgive me, either. I understand why. It's okay. Really. I get over things quickly—remember? I feel like vomiting when people coddle me. It's disgusting to let another person into your solipsism. It's a defense mechanism and I know it (it doesn't make it okay, though) and, well, it's something I'll have to take care of. I don't know when, but sometime, I will cure that sad sickness._

_Roxas, I'm so sorry for each individual thought of malevolence that I've directed your way. From time to time, I lose sight of myself and you, and I mentally block out all that I know about you so it's easier for me to judge and brood. Silently, of course. That is the only correct way to brood—and one must have alcohol in one's possession when brooding. Suffering in thin air without a rational thought. Silent._

_But what's not silent was when you actually spited me (in return for what, exactly? Kairi?) by taking a detour from my house to Riku's that one night, that's not fucking silent. It's sociopathic. What's not silent was me when I called your aunt, who is a Yale chairperson, and told her that you were too young to interview Yale—a little sophomore, you were—in lieu of your hacking into our school's computer system to alter your only B to an A. She was forced to tell the Board, and they predestined your fate for senior year: no Yale for you. The Board takes that type of "crime" pretty seriously. I'm an insane and selfish asshole. I mean, you still will obviously get into Columbia, so what the fuck's the big deal?—and it's funny because I know perfectly well what the big deal is; it is that Yale has been your stronghold since you were twelve. You asshole. Fuck you. Yet you're still that short blond kid across the street who writes a bit too much and broods when he misses his target on the first aim. You have honey gold hair and a prose like Hugo. You have a hold on me, and really, there is no reason to look past anything we've done to each other except for the fact that I now know what you were saying when you left Hawthorne's note on my doorstep that night so long ago, and that you know who paid the community park service to replant that damn Oak Tree for you, fully mature and a whopping $5000, in the middle of the park at the end of the street. And also ? Every time I see you I want to vomit. _

_So my junior year is about to begin, and I'm realizing that I only have eighteen months before we essentially separate from this neighborhood and each other forever. I'll likely go to Massachusetts for college, you to New York; we wouldn't be that far, but the distance would be cold. I'm not. Cold, I mean. An important thing I've learned is that man, alone, bears the burden of having the fear that time will run out. We quantify an ever-changing endless space; we try to tack on invisible paper to nonexistent walls. Man assigns imaginative names and dates for a force that cannot be stopped, a force that cannot even be seen, so we fear the day that the time will run out for good._

_I fear time's hold for the next eighteen months… So I'm stepping up. I'm assigning a name to this "time." Yes—it's bullshit. Nonetheless, time moves forward; I cannot bend time, Roxas, not yet at least, so I think it is due time that after six fucking years of dealing with you every day, I finally own up to it: I love you. _

_I see you across the street from my window of the second story of my house. You're raking leaves or something—making a mess? I could tell you now… But I don't know if I can._

I quickly throw down my pen and run to my window, flinging up the glass. "Roxas!" I shout.

He looks up at me quizzically, blue meeting green, and my heart stops. "Yeah?"

I fumble; what do I say? "It was Winter of 2006!"

Now he just looks flat out pissed. "What are you talking about?"

"It was when I-" He's the poetic type, he'll know what I'm saying in a heartbeat—"when we first met!" I laughed loudly and closed my window, running back to my desk.

_You'll understand that later._

_Roxas, Roxas… After seven years, I think it's time that I finally stop kidding myself and just fucking admit that I'm as crazy for you as you were for me in sixth grade. _

_Sorry for taking so long._

_I've always thought of you as a science project—observing you here, qualifying, quantifying, judging, determining fitness. I treated you like a phototroph; I adjusted the lighting of the lab, changed the hues of the rays while pulling your roots this way, moving the soil to the left, checking the water reservoir daily. Some days you were unusually amiable, but what's this?—now you're glowering at the world, we ought to change that. I'd trim your plant leaves, maybe even completely snip them off, just for laughs. And when I got really good at biophysics, I began to alter the directionality of the light rays that your chloroplasts so hungrily absorbed; I changed the luminary. But now, I want to stop the theorizing—I want to stop manipulating the light. I want to meet you under that natural sunny sky… but will you respond to the environmental conditions as necessary? Am I guaranteed that if I, for one moment, step back from this massively complex science project, that you will flourish as needed based on environmental interaction in your economic domain? I will no longer have the power to adjust the electric currents nor the luminous intensity—but I might just be able to observe you if I can let go of this silly science experiment, existing purely in my head. If I can fully function like a friend to you rather than an entity, then you may accept my utterly self-deleterious confession to you because I have finally, after six years, grown up from that melodramatic kid I once was. I mean, really, Roxas—what does a kiss from you feel like, anyway?_

_With apprehension,_

_Axel Burke_

* * *

AN: Comments of all types welcome.


	2. green and gold

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.

**AN**: Another chapter out! How exciting… So yeah, this is significantly longer than the first, mainly because it was a letter, but also 'cause Roxas thinks a _lot_, and there's a lot to be said… So, enjoy!

**Roxas Tripp – 2013**

The first day I met Axel Burke, I flipped. Honestly. One look at his green eyes and fire-red hair, and I became enchanted. His eyes had this glint of bravado, like a golden speck in a sea of green. Absolutely breathtaking. Now? Now, his eyes still have that glint, but there's something other, some _shadow_ that beguiles me, us.

During the first few years of our friendship, I was completely smitten with him. Now as a sophomore, however, my crush has subsided, but definitely still there. I've learned how to hide my feelings, but damn, those first few years… I yearned so badly to be with him that I thought I would die. He was the only person I had to hang out with - at home, at least.

My stupid older brother, Sora, hardly hung out with me. Sora—my so obviously gay and flamboyant brother. He spent every waking moment with Riku Schmitt. So as a kid, I was inevitably left out of everything. A little sad, yes, but luckily Axel moved in across the street in the winter of sixth grade. Although his coming was a little late (twelve years of my life had passed without a childhood friend!), my happiness was at its peak when I saw his flaming head of red hair. Yep. I was pretty helpless.

But why was I so happy? Maybe I haven't made it clear - I was always alone because _Riku Schmitt_ stole my brother. Every day. Every night. Every freaking _hour_. And Sora was too stupid to realize that Riku wanted to jump his bones, so I was basically excluded because of his oh-so-dark intentions. It's actually perpetually disgusting now that I actually think about what I just said. Riku probably felt up Sora without Sora fully knowing it. Maybe? Jesus, I don't know. But now that I actually think about it, as a toddler, I doubt Riku Schmitt even knew what that thing in his pants was for, but for as long as I've known him, he's always been a little devious. There has always been a certain _je ne sais quoi_ about his starlit hair that has prickled my insides.

Did I just say that? 'Prickle?' And I'm a writer? I sound like a pansy. Mental note: do not associate Riku with my insides. At all. In any way.

I digress. Back to my oh-so-melancholy and pained childhood, my relationship with Sora was simply lacking. It wasn't that he didn't like me—which he did—it was just that, uh, _time_ kept us apart. He, a year older than me, had "older boy" obligations to tend to that consisted of conducting amateur chemistry labs in our backyard with Riku. One, in particular, stands out to me—testing the quickness in which a person's natural instincts respond to ice cold water being poured over his or her head. I remember it _damn_ well, too, because I was in my room reading some weird story about a tiger and then, out of nowhere, a numbing chill shot down my warm skin and I felt paralyzed and then I noticed my fucking book was wet, and it was then I just unleashed the beast inside of me and pummeled Sora.

So that could be another reason why Riku had that air of protectiveness for Sora. I was a volatile kid. Precocious, sweet, innocent, and, well, volatile. (I still smile at that memory.)

The weekend would pass by, and I would have spent it walking to the ice cream shop down the road, while Sora would have spent it with Riku. Come Monday, and I'd probably wake up in Sora's room - no, not because I loved him so much, but because I would go to his room to avoid the dark. It scared the hell out of me, and he had this frilly nightlight type of thing that emitted blue rays, so I took safety in his room. I do have this irrational fear that something is going to jump out of the dark and stab me in the spine or possess me. You know. Shadows haunt me, and I still have some following me in my wake.

But seriously, that nightlight was, like, an early indicator of his sexuality… How had I not noticed it earlier?

Anyway, after Sora and I would wake up, we'd usually eat Kix© cereal, wrap a Gryffindor-themed scarf around our necks, and walk to school. We might even jump on some crunchy-lookinf red leaves on the sidewalk or chase a squirrel on the way to school, but that was it. That was the maximum amount of time we'd get together - the moment Sora's foot hit the pavement of our elementary school, Riku would sweep in and take my brother away under his metaphorical (though I sometimes wonder if literal) wing. To say the least, Riku Schmitt wasn't my favorite person as a child. I mean, I still have good reason to state that I can't stand him, for a few reasons.

As you can guess, my life changed when Axel Burke became my neighbor.

It all started on a frosty afternoon. The Burke family had only moved in a few days ago, and I was anxious to meet this new boy. My mom said his name was "Axel, like the car part."

Nothing too exciting happened the first few days of their arrival. My mother, in all of her angelic blonde haired glory, made sure that I was within a fifteen-foot radius of her. She claimed it was to keep me from causing trouble, but I knew it was because she knew that _I_ knew how badly I wanted a new friend. Ahem. _A _friend. She knew that the kid with the red hair was new, and that red was a target.

In fact—she's actually calling me right now. Jesus, what could she want?

What?

Oh.

Mow the lawn.

The lawn. Seriously. It's summer.

Christ.

My apologies—I never meant to interrupt the story (but then again, Axel probably never "meant" to fuck me over. More on that later) but as duty calls, it must be done, and right now, my rightful duty was to mow that stupid green lawn in the heat of summer.

So as I'm blankly walking down from my room to the garage in order to get the lawnmower, and I see the front window flash a bright reddish shade of gold. Funny. Usually it only does that when Axel is walking by…

I remember when my heart used to stop beating when I saw, thought, heard, felt, grieved him.

And… I'm interrupting my story again. Now I'm in the garage, walking toward the lawn mower, now clambering across the grass-and-dirt-covered concrete floor, looking for the lawnmower gas. I hit the switch to open the garage, sunlight from the outside illuminating my world.

I thought of the window again.

We have this huge bay window that overlooks the outside world. It's very tall and probably fifteen feet wide; the glass is thick and really beautiful because it reflects the color of light. I made it a habit to lie in front of the window, bundled up in a blanket, and just watch life. You could see the grass change weekly, and glowing yellow fireflies were a regular to our yard. On a particularly wintry day, when the grass had a fine layer of frost on its head, I saw a kid – no, _the_ kid across the street. His scarlet locks somehow met the sun, because soon the foyer in my house was illuminated by a reddish glow. He was pristine and beautiful and – and alone. I glowered, looking around for a sibling to appear. My mom said he had siblings, but that they were much older than him. Watching him that day made me realize something – Axel Burke was just as lonely as I was.

Ack. Have I bitched enough about how much yard work sucks? The heat is beating down pretty badly on my head. Gnats flew everywhere, up my nose even, and I'm wondering why the _fuck_ I'm moving the lawn at the height of the afternoon in the climax of summer. And I'm also wondering why the _fuck_ I was so stupid as a kid. I set myself up for failure. Damn that Axel. I should've known.

But I remember how he breathed in as if he were to start speaking after I asked for his name. I leaned in to hear him. "It's Axel Burke." The moment those three words rolled off his tongue, I told myself that Axel Burke was the only one for me.

The winter chill swept across my twelve year-old face, and I caught the scent of Axel's minty breath. My own breath hitched in my throat. Warmth exploded across my face while Axel eyed me precariously, not knowing how to approach me. At the time, I was sure that he was scoping me out—that's why I was so nervous and shaky. That and that my scarf was wrapped around too tightly around my neck. _Axel Burke_. He said it with such confidence and his voice had this certain vibrato to it, it made me want to hit replay on Axel's voice box, _over and over_.

He looked at me blankly, somewhat confused, and pushed me off him. He moved his lips.

"Sorry, what did you say?" I asked dazedly. He raised his red eyebrow at me - I nearly melted.

"I _said_, what are you doing?"

"Introducing myself, obviously! I'm Roxas!" went I. My awkward silence sense were tingling, so I cut him off by shaking his hand (and also taking the moment to see just exactly what color his eyes were). Rather than finding a pale complexion, I found milky skin adorned by red, supple lips. They were bow-shaped and not overly thin nor thick. And what was up with that color? No way could his lips naturally be that red. I began to debate this when I suddenly remembered - "Axel, like the car part." I looked more closely; Axel's face was much too chiseled to be like a car. For God's sake, his lips are like a freaking flower petal. It dawned on me then - my mom couldn't have been more wrong. He wasn't "Axel, like the car part," not at all! Axel was like a rose with those lips.

In a slight daze, "We should be friends Axel," I said bravely, looking him in the eye. Continuing my gaze, I suddenly realized – he was sort of like Aurora from Sleeping Beauty with those girly red lips! (Though I don't plan on ever telling him that.) How does that even happen? In a rush, I spewed, "Hey! You're like Axl rose! Can I call you that?" I bounced on my heels, he just looked back at me quite startled that I had spoken or something.

Seeing this, I tried to back off, "Well, if you want me to..." I added in. "'Cause, well..." Trailing off, I motioned to his general being. Next thing I knew, Axel Burke was sending out a flurry of "no's" and waving his hands in the air. He looked like a little fox trying to intimidate me - his burning red hair, the wild look in his eyes, and his low growls under his breath. How… How did I even respond to that, at twelve years old?

I did the most obvious thing in the world.

"So... Can I play with Rudolph?" I asked sheepishly, ignoring everything he had just gone off about. I'm sure he was just nervous because he's never had a friend to hang out with. Bringing his fingertip to my own hand, I gently poked Rudolph's bright cherry nose. Axel Burke's mittens were really, really soft. Like velvet. Probably like his cheek. Or lips.

"What? No, they're _mine_!" The redhead drew his arms back to his body, and in the process drew _me_ closer to him. I was admittedly still holding onto Rudolph, and by this point I was all tangled up in his gloves and jacket. After a few seconds of furiously trying to disentangle my hand, I suddenly realized something. My hand wasn't cold anymore. It felt rather warm, and I felt velvet on the inside of my palm. My cheeks felt the warmth before my hand registered what was happening.

Axel Burke was _holding my hand_.

At that moment, my heart stopped beating. It just stopped. It didn't skip a beat or pump blood alarmingly fast - it just _stopped_. For the first time in my life, I had gotten that feeling. Like I was floating in midair and the only thing holding me to Earth was the single piece of gold in Axel's eye. I felt safe. He was holding me stagnant, while the rest of the world was swirling and falling and rotating into space. How could someone be so perfect? I mean, his entire being appeared flawless and his hands were so warm and long around mine. The heat I felt rising on my cheeks made me blush even more - Axel made eye contact with me, too. When he saw my blush, his pale complexion too turned a dusty rose color, but he looked more surprised than anything.

What happened after that was sort of a blur, but all I remember was that he muttered something about his mom needing him and ran off. So I went home too.

That entire week passed by and I had never been so happy. When I went downstairs to eat breakfast, usually in the unfortunate company of Sora _and _Riku, I felt like whistling and singing and hugging everybody. Now, no one could steal my best friend – not Riku Schmitt, not Sora, no one. I had someone I knew who valued our friendship as much as I valued it.

That night when Axel held my hand, I had lain in bed, and replayed the flicker of his eyes over and over again. Something happened, but I'm not too sure what. There was a definite connection between us – I mean, people didn't just go around sending provocative stares to kids they had just met. That night, I fell asleep with dreams of lush, green fields in mind that had the prettiest chrysanthemums I had ever seen. Green and gold, a nice combination.

_Zip. Zap zap zop zooooop._

The hell? I tugged on the lawnmower, willing it to move. Was it caught on a rock or something? What the…. I had to tug the ignition switch thing for the damn machine to turn off. Bending down, I lifted it from the ground, snatching the lithe rock from the silver blades.

_Whish_. And over to Axel's yard did the rock fly. Every time I look over to that yard, I always feel a bittersweet pang… Humph. I wiped my brow and kickstarted the lawnmower back up. It whirred back to life, eating the green weeds. I groaned. Time to finish this crappy work up. End story interruption.

After my first encounter with Axel, I didn't see him for about another week. When I finally did spot him, he was perched on my neighbor's driveway, standing awkwardly with his arms out horizontally and bow-legged. Curious, I walked outside. We made eye contact. He fell – it took me a second to realize that he really did fall. Upon realizing, I grabbed a beanie and ran into the snow-covered landscape to help Axel. I placed my hand on his shoulder, because a) he was gorgeous and I wanted to touch him and b) when I'm hurt, Sora touches my shoulder and it makes me feel better. So it all makes sense—but Axel Burke just laid there, breathing in slow and prolonged breaths, and occasionally groaning. I saw some blood gathering at his sleeve.

Seeing no other alternative, I asked, "Ax, why did you run?" He regarded me by glancing over. (He was such a douche!) I know he said something and I know I should've listened, but I couldn't at the time.

"I wanted to see if I could slide…" Axel lamented. His voice sounded strained.

"That's a dumb idea, even for you, Ax!" I replied spiritedly. In the midst of this, my snow-covered beanie loosened and the yarn fell and poked me in the eye. It hurt like a bitch, but I didn't want to freak out the love of my-my best friend, so I blinked like I had a permanent eye twitch, hoping it would get the hell out of my eye. Axel started talking again, but I only picked out one word – my name. He had never actually said _my name _before – it sounded so sweet. Like a guitar string on the low E – definite and mesmerizing.

"You said my name!" I exclaimed excitedly. I don't think he's ever said it, not in full context at least. Nevertheless, the way my name shaped his rosy lips made me want figure out for myself what those lips felt like.

It was then that it happened again – that same look crossed Axel's features. The brilliant flashes of color in his eyes silenced me, leaving me spellbound.

"Hey, I think I might've broken my arm… So, would you mind helping me back to my house?" Axel asked me, sounding exasperated. His face flashed with pain, and I knew then – Axel Burke was the only one for me.

"Of course I'll help you, Axel." A cold front settled in the neighborhood.

- 0 -

That was one of the many days Axel and I grew closer in our friendship. I mean, in case you haven't put two and two together, we aren't exactly the _closest_ of friends right now—seriously, I mean, it's summer and I'm _mowing the lawn_, he's inside his room doing shit with his curtains (I can see him from here), and we're two teenage neighbor boys who aren't hanging out right now. (Don't mind how flamboyantly gay that sentence just sounded.)That's like… A huge faux pas of the rules of modern suburbia. It's an unspoken rule that neighbor guys eat junk food together and swim and look at Playboy magazines, judging girls' cup sizes and all, together.

I mean, it's summertime, right? And I'm going into my third year of high school—this is when stuff starts to change, right? I'm supposed to be all mature and complacent. I suppose that I have grown a lot throughout the years, but more on my early teen years later. There were a lot of pinnacles and falls, lots of times that I felt fucked over and that the world was out to get me. But hey, I grew from all of it, and I'm the person I am today. That's a different chapter in this randy book.

So here I am, gnats flying into my hair, floating pollen causing my eyes to swell, and a pristine fucking lawn at my feet in one hundred degree weather (and that's Fahrenheit, if it were Celsius I'd be dead). Sora is off at Emerson for a formal visitation, and—you guessed it—Riku is with him; Reno (Axel's also attractive brother) is studying mechanical engineering at some cool West Coast college, and Axel is—

"HEY. Roxas!"

-annoyingly yelling out my name like I even want to hear that asshole speak.

"Roxas!" tried he again.

"What."

There was a slight pause—and I don't know why there would be such a pause, because that would imply that he was using actual brain function to devise something oh-so-intellectual-and-scientific to say. He should know by now that his words don't intimidate me.

"It was winter of 2006!" He sent a sunny smile my way—and for just one second my insides turned to gush.

How to reply? Don't stutter. "Uh… Uh, what does that mean…?" I ventured.

Axel of course didn't answer me, he just laughed and slammed the window shut, presumably off to run a myriad of secretive science experiments in the realm of his wondrous, chemical-filled room.

Since that wintry day of sixth grade when I helped Axel get up from the snow-covered pavement, I felt a distinct change in me. At twelve years old, that was a pretty huge deal. I had helped a person when they truly _needed _my help. And that flash in his eye – that mysterious light that drifted over his cornea, I was completely blown away. I didn't know anyone could look enigmatic yet focused. When I think about my massive crush in sixth grade, I do get a little embarrassed. I mean, I was so profound and critical of those who looked at Axel that it was insane. I don't know how our friendship – or my young idea of friendship – survived those beginning years.

Now that I'm fifteen, I have had my fair share of girlfriends, but none made me feel like Axel did on that wintry day. And then I'm wondering what the hell is going on with my sexuality. Hell, on that day, I rushed home and ran to Sora because I didn't know how to handle those emotions. They were so foreign to me. Although Sora was an ass for abandoning me, he was still my big brother, and I relied on him for everything from buying me markers to walking through the house at night with me. I did my best to explain myself, but I couldn't say the words. I didn't know how to say, "Sora, I think Axel is it." Instead, I ran into the foyer where, lo and behold, I found Riku. He was only thirteen at the time, but when you're twelve, age is everything. He was, quote on quote, "older," and damn, when you're that young, age really is everything. He was sitting in my spot in front of the bay window, my red blanket loosely hanging on his shoulders.

"Roxas?" He asked, turning to face me.

"What?" I answered too quickly to be considered normal.

He looked at me with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Roxas." Riku narrowed his eyes at me, silver eyebrows furrowing. "Come over here." He invited, holding the blanket out. I scoffed.

"Why would I do that?" I was much too arrogant to actually admit I liked Riku, but he stole Sora from me, so it was by default that I hated him.

"Because it seems like you really don't like me… and I'd rather not have it be that way." My eyes widened as I slid my gaze down his features, searching. He only looked back with a small smile. "Now how about some brotherly bonding?" He extended the blanket out further.

"We're not brothers," I said flatly, "Sora and I are brothers."

"Roxas. Just come over here, okay?" His tone sounded gentler. "I know you don't like me, but when you're upset, Sora is upset, and that makes me antsy, so just come over here." I huffed my little sixth grade chest, defeatedly walking over. Trying to rationalize… His aqua eyes _did_ look rather alluring framed by all those silver and black lashes. Reluctantly, I walked over and sat next to him, burying my face in the blanket, muttering whatdoyoucareaboutmeIonlylik eAxel. Discretely, of course.

"You have the hots for your neighbor? What?" Riku asked loudly, teasing me because he knew I hated it.

"What?" I squeaked out Riku Schmitt said one of the most shocking things I've ever heard him say. Well… Not so much shocking as it was downright humiliating. How the hell did he even know there was chemistry going on there? How did he understand that gibberish?

"Well, if you want the truth…" he started, "Axel and I are best friends. He says that you two are best friends," he eyed me, making me blush, "and _I _know that you happen to like Axel Burke very much…"

"Do not!" I immediately retorted, my defenses perking up.

"Oh, spare me, mister poet, you_. _Sora says that ever since that Axel kid moved in, you've been ditching him for Axel. Which can lead me to one conclusion."

I stared at him, shocked. My mouth went dry and suddenly my senses told me something – Axel Burke told Riku about our friendship? That was… definitely… unexpected.

I nudged Riku in the ribs, laughing, leaning into his side. He laughed too, and the soft fabric of the blanket comforted me and so did his sparkling silver hair, which let me relax. He playfully punched at my legs, and I think that that moment was the first time I ever saw Riku in the proper light. But in the end, he got exactly what he wanted. It always goes like that.

But at the time, I thought Riku was telling me just one thing about Axel. Instead of seeing him for a snappy-and-bright-kid-oh-my, Riku said Axel was his _pretty good_ friend; weird, because I thought Axel and I were _pretty good_ friends, but whatever-I mean, anywho, Riku crossed that friendship boundary that day. He opened my thoughts to the very real possibility of actually, uh, _liking_ Axel like _that_; before I had only toyed with the idea (I mean what else would you think I could conjure at twelve years old?). That day by the bay window, when Riku stole my spot (in more ways than one-but you'll see that later) by the window, (in life), he urged me to pursue that heart-stopping thought. Riku told me a certain, simple-and-clean something about Axel that day: Axel thought I was the only one for him, too.

- 0 -

This time my mom was having me clean the car. Like actually wash it with dad's special car soap, dad's special mitt for car cleaning, and dad's special wax. I had to actually fucking wax this Batman vehicle. What was it, though—an Audi, I think. My dad's always changing cars. And I don't mean to say that in the manner that would imply that I'm a sad, whiny little bitch of a kid with inattentive rich parents, because I'm not. I love my parents, they're great, but like all teenagers, I think that sometimes their chores for me are a bit overzealous. But hey-this was a Batman Car. Cool, right? Why? The only condolence was that because this car reminded me of Bruce Wayne's car it, then reminded me of my trampoline because I pretended to fly off it with a Batman cape once, which then brings me back to Axel, who once sprained his ankle because he got his foot caught in the spring of the trampoline when playing Batman with me when we were little.

Axel.

Only a few days have passed since he last yelled out to me from his window. And really, what the fuck was that all about? Some hyped-up Romeo-and-Juliet-esque poetry slam thing? Did he really think it would "knock me off my waxing poetic feet?" Come on—he should know that Icarus's great fall occurred because he overzealously tried to win over popular opinion in the heat of summer with wax-bound wings—and his little Shakespearean stunt was totally waxing poetic-esque, and as far as I'm concerned, his little "it was winter of 2006" shit cost him his life, and he is dead, floating in a river with feathers and microscopic proteins shoved up his lungs. He drowned.

Dead.

Okay.

So not really. He's still alive. I saw him dump some blue liquid from his window this morning—and again, I really have no idea what he's doing up there. Probably watching too much television and trying to create a meth lab. Whatever. It's like he expects me to forget and remember at the same time. I remember the first time we met, first time we swam in my pool, got ice cream, kissed, worked on my newspaper homework, had a sleepover. I want to forget how Riku manipulated the both of us into betraying and alienating each other and Sora, when we first argued, I want to forget the first time, I want to forget how he sabotaged my dream school (and for what reason, really?), want to forget that he blackened my name among schools.

But there's one common denominator to it all. I want to forget the moment when Axel told me he was skipping grades. Just erase it—swipe—from my memory. I can't stop that feeling of abandonment from flooding my eyes—but hey, I'm cleaning the Batman car, I can pass it off as soapy water splattering in my eyes.

So where are we now? Ah—the end of sixth grade.

We were walking home together, Axel and I, from Mrs. Parsons sixth grade classroom of Bastion Elementary. The last day of school—then summer! But when he suddenly blurted out "Roxas I'm sorry" in front of my house before we parted ways, I knew something bad was about to heart stopped and my emotions tumbled. "You're _what_?" I asked incredulously, scrunching my eyebrows so tight that it hurt.

Axel just stared back at me. "Mrs. Parsons said that because I performed so well this year, I am able skip to eighth grade." He gave me one of those indifferent, slant-faced grins.

"But… But now you'll be with Sora and Riku…" My world suddenly caved in on me. Axel couldn't be leaving me. He was supposed to be my best friend, my wingman (although he's the one I'd try to wing), my little fake Spanish friend who I could sing mariachi music with. Why was he joining Sora and _Riku? _Was this a joke? They're both older than me and – and – and he was just up and leaving me to go through seventh grade on my own.

While I continued thinking bad thoughts about Riku and Sora and now Axel, my smaller self huffed up and then Axel's touch on my shoulder electrified my being, and _oh damn_, he was really touching my shoulder and his eyes were looking directly into mine. I almost fainted from that lovely combination of abandonment and bewilderment. I saw his Sleeping Beauty lips and those emerald eyes though, and I just couldn't breathe.

"Rox, it's okay. We're still the same age!" He smiled, nearly blinding me with his white teeth. God, why couldn't I see Axel's lame attempt to satiate me? I was a young and stupid kid. Volatile.

"You still have Kairi…" Axel trailed off. I think he knew that was bad advice when I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster. I didn't want to come off as that lame, clingy friend though—I mean, yeah, we were still neighbors, but still… he didn't see what he was doing to me. But did he ever?

Being the bigger man, I started, "well… That's true… We _are_ the same age…" I sniffed, trying to fight off the tell-tale signs of me about to cry. I turned to walk away so he wouldn't see me, my insides churning with tsunamis of disappointment.

"Hey!" In an instant, I turned around to match a voice with a face. The earthquake quaked again, splitting the ocean in my stomach.

"…what?"

Oddly cheerfully, "what are you doing for the summer?"

"Going to the lake. Not the lake at the end of the street—"

"—I know—"

"—but the Tripp cabin up north. We're all going for the summer, but not Riku. Just our family."

He looked in the distance. "Oh, uh—well, have a good time."

"…"

"Rox, listen—I'm sorry I'll be leaving you behind a year. It was really never my intention, but if I'm so good at this science thing, I want to be the best! And Mrs. Parsons said the only way that that can happen is if I skip ahead to eighth grade so I can work in this 'lab' thing." What he forgot to mention was that this lab happened to be "with Riku."

I think that at this time, he really did see how sad I was, because he simply walked over to me and pulled me into a big hug. My eyes were at his shoulders, and his long arms just wrapped around my body like it was the easiest thing in the world. We stayed like that for a few minutes, I would say silently acknowledging our strange friendship, knowing that it would continue but with a cost.

And so that was the start of our friendship. It's funny, because we started out so innocently, so full of good intentions…

- 0 -

Welp, the soap has dried to this damn Batman vehicle and I have to scrub it again. Dad's gonna be pissed if this soap stays crusted here.

"Here, use this." Long arms reached in front of me and poured a huge bucket of bluish liquid over the black Audi, rapidly sliding down the metal, leaving a polished and waxed-looking trail. I inspected it, blinking—well, the car looked great, it was still a bit wet, but it washed away those stains.

"Thanks, Axel."

He nodded and placed the bucket on the ground, still full of that blue liquid, facing me. I could feel something different about him, his hair was cleaner, his body more muscular, his intentions more clean, maybe. I blankly looked at him, not wanting to further our conversation, but then he's fucking trying to lean in and kiss m—what the fuck is this!

"Leave me the fuck alone! Damn!" I yelled, pushing him off me. "I thought I made it clear that I _don't_ want to talk to you. Did the whole 'let me waltz in all widdly-do and fuck up Roxas's chance at getting into the best university in the U. S.' not work in you grand scientific experiment to get into my pants?" I seethed.

"It's not like it'd be the first time." Of course he would bring that up—cold and angry. I stormed back into my garage, hating him.

"Go home and work on something, just get away from me." He looked at me nonchalantly, then decided on the bright idea to walk over to me. "What." I said, annoyed.

"Here." He gave me a piece of paper.

"Whatever," I seethed, throwing it on the ground in the garage. "Leave!"

He glowered critically at me, slowly walking to get his bucket.

"Oh, no way, fuck you—I'm keeping that shit!" I yelled angrily while running over and snatching that big bucket of his up. Before he could protest I closed the garage door, mentally forcing myself not to do anything stupid or think anything stupid (as if that's not stupid). I walked back to go into my house, but then I saw that godforsaken paper envelope. Really? Even after everything, he still has a hold on me like this?

I picked it up and angrily shoved it in my pocket, bounding upstairs, wanting nothing more than to just _sleep_.

Even still—that hot summery day when Axel told me he was skipping grades, and now as a soon-to-be junior who currently hates Axel, I would even say that I thought (and still think) that Axel was the only one for me… and it'll be like that for a while, despite everything.

- 0 -

**AN:** Sorry for going so slowly, there were a lot of important details I had to get out, and plus it's fun having to write like Roxas versus Axel, so I kinda milked it there… Stay tuned for the next installment! Thanks all of you! Please leave any comments belooow.


	3. the strings that tie us together

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.**

AN: The only thing to do is to apologize. I am so sorry I've left you guys hanging for three and a half months! Finishing up my senior year was very stressful, but now that all is said and done, I am happy to say that I have achieved everything I've ever wished for thus far in life. This chapter is especially important to me for two reasons: 1) I put my heart into it so as to convey Axel's persona, and 2) if read in the correct light, this is the story of my growth from age twelve to age eighteen, and it's a wonderful feeling to get words down to meaning. I touch on some darker elements in this chapter, so ready yourselves for that; additionally, the present time will start to pick up in the following installments. Thank you for sticking around, and be sure to drop a review.

* * *

**Axel Burke - 2013**

All I've ever wanted was for Roxas Tripp to leave me alone. Just for a moment - you know, just to give me some damn _space_. What initiated as a pompy, sort of glomp-and-walk thing with you morphed into a fully raged puppy love, and, Roxas, let me tell you—in grade six, when a specimen, such as myself, runs into a person like you (coated with all those golden sweet layers and slathered in an endless, redolent scent of cheerfulness), the bridge collapses. There's no way in hell that thirteen popsicle sticks could support anything more than thirteen pounds, and science tells that there would always be that additional eight pound unit attached to the thirteen, simply out of habituation, showing the unnecessary extrapolation of evidence that in those godforsaken baker's dozens comes those undesirable flakes of emotion which teeter off in winding trails.

Everything started when my family first moved in the winter of sixth grade. We came from New Jersey. The move to Connecticut wasn't too bad, emotionally speaking, because the New England states were all so small that I could easily visit my old friends. Not that I had any burning will to see them again—no, please don't assume that I did—it is only the fact that my world was still so closely knit together that I could handle the psychological toll of moving from one state to the other. That historic move was about five years ago. And, as a well-versed inquirer of the world, you may ask—why was said move "historic?"

My friends, that is a whole narrative that I will most definitely elucidate in coming words. (Now.) (Sorry, I'm horrible at transitioning into things.) In the dusty fortresses of my mind, there exists a stunningly clear picture of a polished young man who grins salaciously through the glass while expertly moving his eyes toward the general direction of his long-lost-girlfriend's ass. A black fog engulfs his face as he pulls in a succulent breath of smoke, his eyes aflame, his woman with magnificent blonde hair slowly pulling her sky-blue silky thong down her oiled legs. An ear-splitting holler smacks me, violently, my twelve year-old ears ringing, and blood spills down my nose and I only register the now-blackness in front of me and the hurried desperation of skin slapping skin. Shocked to tears, this crystal image clouds over, and my twelve year-old self scurries from the heavy oak door to the confines of my cloudy domain. I grabbed a gray sock from my drawer and plastered it on my face, threw myself into my too-large bed, and bawled.

Some childhood, right?

That… was my brother, Reno. At age twelve, observing the dirty Hyena readying itself to fuck the harlot is not an optimal point of view to see your brother. Innocence creates a subjective reality. Innocence isn't a physical trait, but rather a state of mind – a child-like state of mind. Those children's ignorance creates a solipsistic world in which the idea of adulthood is a far off dream, like a forgotten memory. In this illusion of reality, brothers do not dehumanize their being for the sake of sex. I was once a child who thought the world to be completely fantastical. My innocence took me far beyond the magic of this planet. Inside my mind, I had created a perfect utopia where time had stopped, yet I could live—the perfect _Havisham_, lost among the stars.

This is the history of me, in all of the overlapping shades of green, jade, and teal—this is the history of Reno and me, a few days before he fucked his girlfriend in front of me, a few days before I turned twelve, and perhaps after I tell you, you'll understand… Well, Me.

Unfamiliar teal walls filtered through my vision as I felt warm skin brush across my shoulder. Short breaths blew over my ear. The sensation engendered a trail of goose bumps prickling down my neck, yet my eyes couldn't bring themselves to surrender to the morning light; I could feel the world churn, my mind lolling in and out of consciousness. The warmth on my shoulder quickly turned cold.

"Hey, Axel, wake up." Still dreaming, I swatted the hand away and attempted to go back to sleep. The cloud-like cushions subdued me as I dreamed of a shining sun, but it soon misted behind a wall of teeming, recluse-like clouds. It was then I noticed something peculiar about the voice that had awoken me.

"Axel, come on," another voice, my cousin, Paine, murmured. I opened my eyes to see greenish-blue walls. It took me a moment to realize where I was. My brother's old room—Reno's old room. Reno, who was some big shot at a high-achieving school, and Me, and Me in Reno's room.

"Reno is waiting for us." She said impatiently. I peered up at my cousin through half-lidded eyes. I couldn't ignore the anxiety gathering in my chest. God, I should have known to ready myself for my world to get _fucked._

"Okay," I began, rolling out of bed, "just give me a minute." After sitting up, the bones in my body rattled painfully. I sighed again, reminded of the effects of sleeping on an air mattress. My joints were stiff.

"Hey, Paine, what time is it?" I inquired, nearly finished making the bed. She never did answer me.

"Come on, they're waiting in the living room," Paine tugged my arm and motioned for the door.

"Who's 'all?'"

"Well, Reno and Rikku, and your parents, I guess." She answered, opening the door. The wood beneath my feet was cold.

"Oh," I said lamely, "well, why is Reno here?" I interrogated, sounding a bit too bitter. "And who's Rikku? Rikku from… a long time ago?"

She fell silent for a moment. We continued moving along the wall of the hallway. To myself, I apologized to Paine. I had a tendency of becoming insensitive. In a matter of seconds, we reached the living room, giving me no time to hear an answer from Paine, but I doubt she even wanted to speak to me . As soon as I saw my family sitting in an awkward circle around the thick glass coffee table, I knew that something unsettling was about to unfold.

"Hey, guys," my mom greeted. She looked pristine and put-together as usual, but her eyes betrayed her body, exposing her facade. They had a washed-out look, a filial conflict resonating in her hazel orbs. Reno had his pasty arm wrapped carelessly around the blonde, his hand overtly grappling her ass.

"Morning, everyone." Rikku, Reno's girlfriend, chimed. I smiled at her, but a parasite lingered in the back of my mind, quelling my smile. Her warm voice contrasted darkly with the coldness I saw behind those eyes.

Tension hung heavy, lacing its fingertips through the particles of oxygen, pulling it from my being. I lost my breath, my solar plexus feeling as if it had been nailed. My vision distorted.

I wanted to say something.

"So, what did you guys eat for breakfast?" My mom asked sweetly. I narrowed my eyes, growing infuriated. How were they able to sit and breathe and talk like this?

"What's going on?" I questioned abruptly. I just wanted to know what was going on. How could they be such monsters?

My brother, my kindred brother that I had not seen for two years since he left for college, glanced lovingly at me. He smiled, no teeth, as if he were hiding what he truly felt.

How could they be such monsters? How?

"Rikku and I are getting married, and since she's a business graduate and I'm a mechanical engineer, we're moving to the United Arab Emirates to further both of our careers." Reno announced, his voice steady like a flowing river, smooth, but sitting atop a dangerous current. I shut my eyes for a moment, the swirling blackness confirming my suspicions. The day had finally arrived; he was leaving home. He was no longer my big brother—and just for this girl? My world began to crack, for I realized that pretending that she would never leave could no longer protect my utopia. Life began to seep into my world. The stones that adorned the ground beneath my feet morphed, melting into the dirt, returning to the magma chambers where they originated. My world had been penetrated.

"When are you moving?" My voice sounded assertive, but inwardly, I felt so incredibly weak.

"We're moving on Wednesday. As in two days." Rikku replied curtly, observing me. Her eyes seized my gaze. I expected her to appear sorrowful and apologetic, but her stare sent a wave of irrevocability throughout my body. It was Monday. My brother and his girlfriend held fast in their decision, and knowing that he would soon leave his past (and my future) behind killed me.

"But it's only Monday…" I quietly remarked, stunned. I didn't expect to be choked by overwhelming loneliness.

"Why? Why are you leaving? And so soon?" I asked. The comfort I once found in Reno's eyes vanished. Questions of all depth and color ate at my body, crunching my limbs, sending bone-splintering affliction throughout my physique. I couldn't ignore the painful bites of adulthood breaking through my vision of a perfect world that I had conjured.

"Why not?" Reno replied, seemingly annoyed at my asking. Lovingly looking into his prized girlfriend's gorgeous eyes, he whispered, "It's where we're going to start anew."

Although my mind's eye bled and I shouted for closure, I reached a milestone that day. For my idol of a brother, that fateful day in August established a new empire for him to claim the throne. He began a journey; that journey began with the day he broke off our family union. For him, that hour foresaw a new land full of promises and ambition. As I looked onward, beyond the skyline, I couldn't help but think that anywhere but here would be where my life ended . He left me, and after all, we were much the same, down to the fucking red hair; it was like saying "I am you" in two separate languages. I spoke in choppy, twiddled Spanish sentences while his tongue was graced with flowing French diction. Our message remained identical, and would remain as such until it could become an elegant epitaph, but what mattered most was what was ingrained in our ability to communicate it. That day, I couldn't will myself to say, "Reno, you're my brother, and I love you for it" because what he did was not only breaking me, as a child, but he also tore my mother to bits. She had nurtured Reno, and had made him her prized masterpiece; his glowing intellect was easily groomed into an Ivy League-goer, and he symbolized everything that my mother had wished for in her own self. The sudden leaving-the betrayal-easily hit my mother. Something glowed, bursted, even, in my psyche, and since the day I heard Reno express romantic interest in someone I hated, I, myself, haven't ever had the ability to mix the absolute correct liquids to formulate those three coveted words, romantically.

So, what are you going to name your baby?

(Sweet Jesus. I forgot to mention, in my endless and hopeless narrative, that Reno announced Rikku's expected unexpected pregnancy. Sorry. I'm not a perfect author; this isn't my thing, really).

We're not sure yet. Rikku likes the name Jessica, but I like Lily.

What if it's a boy?

We're thinking Axel.

After… your little brother?

Well, sort of. It's half that and half because an "axel" is what keeps everything together. You know… Mechanic stuff.

Oh. Like the car part.

They stopped talking and all I could register was that my childhood was being taken from me... That black figure, arisen of insecurity and a destroyed solipsism, loomed above me once more. The subhuman figure lowered its body, its eyes peering straight into mine . Changeling eyes. Like living stars, they didn't draw me in but snapped out and seized me with a scrutiny of what used to be considered "infectious." Inside of this monster's optics, a picture of a memory floated into view. Leaning against a bookshelf, I sat in a bookstore with my brother, most likely at the local Bookman's. In his right hand was a sugar-saturated beverage known as coffee , the left, a book. Suddenly, I could smell the pages of the book in his hand; a crisp, dry scent that now triggers a sort of sad rumination in my mind. Trading books, we were able to discuss what we liked and what we didn't. Our minds communicated through these books, and Bookman's inscribed our memories on its shelves.

In my memory, he sat across from me.

In front of me, across the coffee table, with a quick glance at those eyes, I knew I gazed longingly at Reno. I can remember his eye color at that moment, too—mostly green, almost hazel.

"Why are you going?" I implored hopelessly, sadly lowering my hand to the table.

His bow-shaped mouth moved and words stuck to the air, but I didn't listen.

Replaying memories of our times over and over again, a sudden whiplash of knowledge careened into me. Adulthood stood in my path, dark, bold, and conniving, feeling me out, sticking its leg out to trip me. To see if I could handle it. I marched past, refusing to let it bloody my knees. Its black figure disintegrated, and I felt something new, a bit like liberation. Warm tears accumulated in my tear ducts, but I wouldn't allow myself the privilege of crying. Tears would only heighten the sadness of his departure; tears would only assure that crying could fix what words are meant to fix; tears would signal that crying for the past is acceptable. It is not.

Reno began to speak once more, interrupting my inner upheaval. "We're going to Grandma's house," he stated, looking around the room, "do you guys want to come? We're going to tell her we're moving and having a baby. I'd rather her hear it from me than from you." He looked directly at me, somewhat angry, but also a bit remorseful. Rikku started laughing, and her voice sounded uplifted, like a musical instrument playing a lively major chord. Reno's responding, blinding smile rivaled that of the New Jersey sun. And if I remember correctly, the New Jersey sun is no different from the United Emirates' sun. The same sun, with the same people who have the same feelings, shines down on all of us. It floats in the sky, sitting, casting down those fickle phosphorescent lights.

After a quiet moment, I conceded to Reno. "I don't see why not."

Reno, six years my senior, smiled and stood, the winner, victorious. He sauntered, left then right, and I followed him, left then right, the lower, defeated. Paine decided to join us, as well as my mother. My mother retrieved her car keys, slipped her feet into a pair of loose-fitting shoes, and ambled slowly to the garage.

I wish I could end this lengthy anecdote with some uplifting tale or "theme," but I can't. This was the day that numbed me; I cannot express how dull I became after this, how my spark for love and my electricity in life simply died that day, but a definitive change rattled my body, and at age twelve, this story is a little bit depressing. It's life, though—pinnacles and valleys. I loved Reno so much, as much as any younger brother in need of guidance would love their older sibling; I held onto my severed brotherhood up until a few years ago, but I realized that love, brotherly love, even, lacks in ability to mask the fear. In all of my lectures and teachings, I fooled myself into thinking life would be easier if I had someone or something to love—Reno, chemistry, electrons—but that's just not the truth. Still, I remember that honey-yellow smile and those circular orbs that measure out to be the golden ratio from Connecticut, and I have just the slightest inkling that yellow and blue are two divine colors.

-0-

Up until I slept with Kairi, Roxas Tripp had a knack of coincidentally traipsing straight into my chest. I'd gotten used to it, but every time his body met mine, he always turned a deep cherry and mumbled something unintelligible. Now, however, I can't help but hypothesize that Roxas no longer makes it quotidian habit to walk into my body due to the fact that he's actually semi-adultish and can definitely _take the hint._ It is not that I disdain his very being, because I don't. I only vent so cynically because there has been so many _things_ between us since the day I moved that I just don't know how to handle my emotions around him. From an overly romantic first meeting to emotional betrayal to… well, let's just call them "other events," Roxas knows my habits and life a bit too well, and that discomforts me to the extreme. Odysseus's fatal flaw was hubris. My fatal flaw is independence to a damaging degree; my defense mechanisms force my psyche to reject any closeness when I find myself forming strong bonds with others. I'm that guy who can't handle commitment. I'm that person who would rather do calculus integrations or read a review of _Common Sense_ than go out for a night on the town and maybe meet a pretty girl. I'm… Damaged. That otherwise-confidential information is, unfortunately, within Roxas's domain of knowledge.

The first time I ran into Roxas Tripp was about a week after I moved into the neighborhood. I was twelve years old at the time, and I held a certain affinity for mittens. Mittens were Fluorine and I was Oxygen. At the time, I was intent on wearing my mittens every hour, everywhere. They were a bright red color with dangling antlers hanging from the fingertips. They were cute and childish and ultimately a bit fucking needless and tacky.

I could describe to you the Roxas version of our first meeting, and by "the Roxas version" do I _not_ mean from his perspective but rather the story that is long-winded, boring, loaded with buzz words, and overly emotional. Being that this general range of storytelling does not fall into my computational skills as a speaker or even as a damn human, I will tell you this: that blonde riot tried to call me "Axl Rose," I rejected the name, he tried to call me "Rudolph," then I ran away. The snow was cold and icy, his cheeks swam with cherry-sucking reds, and I might even damn well say that his face matched my hair. Ba-dum, done. How was that for _effectio et une paranomasia _and double wordplay? Shakespearean enough? Roxas-esque enough for all of you? (I feel no necessary implication to point out that that is a rhetorical question, ahem, _hypophora_, preceded by Latin rhetorical devices that Roxas utilizes whilst writing.)

_Tssssss! Tssss zop!_

Well, fuck. Let me apologize - in the midst of recounting to you my oh-so-depressing childhood, I completely forgot about my lab's hot plate burner. See, even though I'm on the second story of my house, my mother - after countless hours of convincing her - let me install a lab station on the balcony of the extra bedroom. I had to build the whole of it! I air conditioned, insulated, and refurnished the lab on the balcony, and I built a greenhouse-like structure to act as the walls and roof of the lab. If I were to treat the lab like any other room - and by that, I mean that if I were to have built wooden walls and made it an extension of an actual room - the place would have been destroyed. I'm a volatile chemist, what can I say. I wanted it, first, when I became a freshman in high school. My involvement in the hard sciences became pretty intense that year, and there was a scholarship contest offered through MIT. In light of the gigantic oil spill that occurred in the New England rivers that year, the professor of chemistry (Dr. Yang, I believe) offered forty thousand dollars to the high schooler that could formulate a concoction that had the ability to isolate oil's nonpolar bonds and pull the compounds to the bottom of the mixture. I attempted to create it, but I never officially entered the competition because of my preoccupation with Roxas. I don't even know if the contest is still valid - it's been years since the scholarship was announced, but no one has satisfied the qualifications of Dr. Yang, even though he, himself, has already created the compound that does what he asked for in the scholarship. My thinking is that he's waiting to find that genius who is truly deserving of that money.

Shit, shit, shit - this shit is hot! I speedily threw on some old-style oven mitts, picked up the hissing glass beaker, and haphazardly threw the mixture into the grass on the side of my house. All the grass is dead on the side of my house. Like I'm pretty sure it's all rubble now. Dead or not, there are definitely no snakes on that side of the house! Roxas may have informed you of my constant laboratory escapades. I'm pretty sure that he has seen me burn myself more than once out here, and he's definitely caught a whiff of the burning chemicals. And is that... Is that blue liquid dripping from the beaker? This stuff is blue? I mean, I've never made this exact mixture before, but I was expecting more of a black-based color because of its nonpolar properties...

I looked across the street from Reno's balcony. I saw Roxas's snazzy sports car toasting in the summer heat, and wow, that baby was dirty. It looked like it had been covered in some type of sticky liquid... I bet I could clean it off in just one usage of my newly-created mixture. I grinned. What was Roxas up to this week?

Anyways. A day that stands out in particular to me was a pinnacle in my adolescence, most likely Roxas's as well, and it was the day I had to tell him I decided to transfer grade levels. I mean, if you look back on it, I suppose it was a pretty shady situation. At the time, we were both in sixth grade. How old were we? Twelve, likely. I, in sixth grade, asked Kairi Stalls to be my girlfriend as a means of avoiding Roxas. I remember the first time he saw us together. Kairi and I were walking down the park - the one at the end of mine and Roxas's street - we were holding hands, and we were smiling, laughing. I didn't particularly like the girl, but I felt like the moment was right, so I kissed her. She squirmed and it was a little awkward, but she burst into giggles afterward which were broken up by the sound of a sharp inhalation of breath. We both peered over our shoulders, and lo and behold, Roxas stood beside Sora; both were dumbfounded, but Roxas's face held a deeper pang of sadness. I saw a small reflection of myself in him.

"Ah! Oh - um, hi!" Kairi giggled out, her hand dancing in my own. I held on loosely, embarrassed that the two brothers had just witnessed me kissing her.

"Kairi," Sora nodded, "Axel." He had an air of the superior older brother surrounding him. A big eighth grader, and an older brother for that matter, Sora probably knew that Roxas was head over heels for me, so it's logical that he regarded me so coldly. His talkative blue eyes narrowed and he moved his foot just an inch forward. A small measurement, it was enough for me to figure out that he was pissed.

"Hey, Sora... Uh, did you know that -"

"I'll walk Kairi home. Her mom just asked us where she was, and we told her, 'at the park,' but we thought she was with Namine. Not you." He started walking over to Kairi, putting his hand out - smiling! "Come on, your mom seemed kinda mad, and I don't want you to get into trouble." The sunlight hit his hair just right so that he looked like a damn angel from a covenant and you just couldn't say no to that face.

Still red, she returned the small grin. "Okay, Sora!" Clear as a bell, her voice rang out, and I knew she had no idea what the hell was going on.

Lamely, I muttered a thank-you to Sora.

"Oh, and Axel? What were you saying before - 'do I know' what?" And what made me more angry then was that he knew perfectly wellwhat exactly it was that I was talking about and that I was just bringing up the subject so I could just say something in such an awkward and uncomfortable situation. He just wanted me to get the bad reaction from Roxas as, what, a... Punishment? He grinned something lascivious and winked, walking off with my girlfriend in the sunset.

So then I turned back to Roxas. I looked at Roxas. I ran away from Roxas.

But fret not; he found me after school the next day. Well, not actually "found" - we walked home together and he trapped me with his words like a damn politician.

His small shoulders drooped sadly, and the usual glimmer about his body faltered slightly. So when we looked up at me and asked me, "Axel, what was Sora talking about yesterday? Did he know what?", I felt guilty.

"Ah, well, Roxas... Mrs. Parsons said that because I performed so well in her math and science classes, I am able to skip to eighth grade."

His eyes dead-panned. If my words had knives, then his corpse would've been a bloody mess.

"You're what."

"Skipping seventh grade."

Silence.

"Rox, you still have Kairi!"

He punched me. I guess I deserved it.

"But... But it's only the last day of sixth grade! Now I'll never see you again," oh, he sounded so sad! Looking up, he started, "but I suppose that we will always be the same age, even though we'll be in different grades... And that's pretty good, too."

"Roxas, I really am sorry." I was. Looking back on it, my situation regarding Kairi and my skipping a grade absolutely paralleled the moment when Reno deserted me. Perhaps not as momentous, my skipping seventh grade was definitely a huge damper in Roxas's persona, and the grade gap did create another gap in between us. An academic gap. Sure, we still spent time together outside of school, but we had a different social circle. We grew new habits, new personalities, even. And when I was twelve, I didn't realize this. I only saw how my actions hurt Roxas for the moment - so I pulled him into a hug. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and his clang to my stomach. I softly laid my head on the top of his shoulders and stayed like that for a few seconds. Now, as I think about what could have been instead of what is, I get really sad. Roxas and I started off so innocently and full of good intentions, but it seems that our mutual jealousy throughout the years gave birth to this huge, insidious monster that caused us to sabotage one another. I remember, once, that Roxas gave me a Victorian novel to read so that I could "learn myself something," as he put it. It was in sarcasm that he handed me the novel by Bronte, though, because he didn't necessarily "hand" it to me but rather he launched it at my window last year after I called him a pansy ass for not biting my lip in the previous night's "escapades." We had decided to walk home together to "talk," yes, to talk, and he brought up the crazy intense hate-love between Heathcliff and Catherine, and I looked at him like "what the fuck are you talking about" and he started to explain to me their sadistic relationship when, suddenly, the word 'sadism' brought up the previous night's intense "I hate you but still love you" sex brought on by my calling Yale University, and that's when I called him a pansy ass, then ran to my room, and when I got to my floor, I saw shards of glass on my carpet and a fat novel with the title "Wuthering Heights." It was a book, and a book is paper, so I associate Roxas with paper now. I read the book. Novel. What-fucking-ever it was. "Wuthering Heights" actually makes sense, and I was insulted that Roxas actually attempted to liken Heathcliff and Catherine to us because, well, I don't hate Roxas. I really don't. In fact, I wish that that conundrum didn't even exist; I wish association between Roxas and I to be strictly benevolent and in good feeling. No malice or anger or unsettled feelings. But if I were to tell him that, he'd think that I'm all lovey-dovey head-over-heels for him, and really, the last thing I need for Mr. Smug Roxas Tripp to think is that I miss him.

And there you have it. You now know how I grew up, and (I hope) you understand why I act how I do. Mine and Roxas's relationship began complicatedly, so it follows that it progresses with just as much complexity. I'm obsessed with calculus and chemistry but I still love a good read every now and then, especially those by Goethe. My brother, Reno, fucked me over as a child, and I'm still climbing out of the well in which he threw me; the stones are slippery and I fall often, but I know there's that papery rope, close to the top of the well, and I know that if I can climb high enough and grab onto that crisp and delicate thing, it'll pull me to the top, and I'll have changed my own luminarium under the open blue sky.


End file.
